Margaritaville

I’ve talked about this before and I don’t know why it happens, but sometimes people I don’t even know very well tell me things that I’d never tell anybody. These people don’t want my advice, either, they just want to spill.

Saturday night, I was out rock chicking at a Big BahUna gig. You all remember him from my Blogathon, right? He is a rock star in his own right, although, his current musical solar system consists of local bars orbited by a rather eclectic bunch of groupies and fellow musicians.

Two of these groupies are a mother/daughter duo. I don’t know them well, other than to say “hello” at a gig. To be honest, I really don’t want to know them. Without even speaking to them, I can tell they are a wee bit on the bizarre side. Rock chick gigs are the perfect place for not having to talk to people, yet still be out in society.

The band does take a break every once in a while, though. I went outside during the first one. I was minding my own business enjoying the beautiful summer evening in peace, when the mom half of the dynamic duo walked out the door and started spilling her guts about how she walked out on her 21 year marriage because she fell in love with a guy named Gay Jay.

Before anyone gets too excited, Gay Jay is what he called himself. He came up to me at a previous gig and said “Hi, I’m Gay Jay”. I don’t think I had ever heard someone call themselves that before and before I could say “nice to meet you”, he went into a musical number. That’s right, a song and dance. I think he wrote it himself.

I’m Jay
I’m gay
If you don’t like it
Gooooo away
Cause I’m Gay Jay
And I’m here to stay.

He even had a Z snap in there. It was a catchy tune, I’ll give him that. The lyrics could have used a little work.

Despite all of the steamy dirty dancing Gay Jay got the mom half to do, it turns out that Gay Jay wasn’t really interested in her at all! I’m not sure why that didn’t dawn on her earlier in the relationship, but it turns out that Gay Jay was only using her for margaritas. He was nothing more than a drink whore and had totally used her for a trip to Margaritaville on his draught beer budget and now her husband won’t take her back.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, when thank goodness (or at least I thought so at the time), the daughter half of the duo came skipping out the door. Well, she tried to skip but after her own visit to Margaritaville, she was having some difficulty. Fearful her tube top might spring off, I backed up a bit and she asked if I wanted to see her new tattoos.

Sure, why wouldn’t I? (that’s sarcasm). She had two new tats put on her wrist with the Hanson logo. That’s right....MMMBop. I like that song as much as anybody, but come on! Still hopping up and down, she tells me that the next time I see her she will have The Big BahUna’s band logo on her ankle.

WHAT?

Ok, that’s weird. Too weird. Creepy crawly weird.

You all know I love Bon Jovi. I wouldn’t get a Bon Jovi tattoo. I adore The Big BahUna, too, he is a great friend and is super talented, but permanently tattooing his band logo on me? Ummmm, no. Never even thought about it.

You should have seen BahUna’s face when I told him this bit of news. His expression for a split second was somewhere between disbelief and fright. We decided we now understand why Bon Jovi won’t stop and visit with 8 women who are willing to sit on wood chips for three hours to see him. I think BahUna muttered something like “I hope she doesn’t kill me one day”. I’ve begun to re-think stalking Bon Jovi in the future.

In contrast, one of my other friends was surprisingly quiet on Saturday night. This particular friend usually has no problem letting loose a dirty little secret or two. Maybe he was saving it all for Monday morning’s armchair quarterbacking e-mail, because I got a humdinger of one!

He wouldn’t name names (then why tell me, I wonder? Am I supposed to sit and guess all day? ) but he’s decided that youth is wasted on the young and everyone he seems to know went wild over the weekend so he decided to, as well.

I know I didn’t go wild over the weekend so it couldn’t have been “everyone”, but he told me tales of one night stands and that a friend of his took such a wild trip to margaritaville, that she didn’t even realize that she had had an peeing accident in his car.

I told him that sounds more like a mid-life crisis, but if that’s “youth”, then I’m glad I’m old. That’s just gross, sorry.

He said I’m too judgmental (which I don’t think is true) and that events like that are a badge of honor to be permanently tattooed in your memory ,always guaranteed to make you smile. He says I’m too uptight and I should let loose once in a while.

All I know is the last time I let loose and visited Margaritaville, I had to have a doctor remove three pieces of glass from the bottom of my foot. I have since ditched my passport and vowed never to go there again.

Life is much more pleasant here in Cranberry Juiceland :) I think I’ll stay right where I am.